belated

Somebody bought me this (which is awesome!) - I assume for my birthday a few weeks ago, but it came from a 3rd party book vendor, and had no note. I think it might have been Emily, who thought it would come in the same shipment as the awesome dvd she sent me. But I could be wrong?

stranded in las vegas

It was the most hilarious weekend in Las Vegas, and despite the fact that I generally hate Las Vegas and that nothing went according to plan, I had a good time and was totally content to have come for my friend's birthday.

We were pleased with ourselves to have booked a return flight for 1:30 pm on Sunday, unlike the last time I was here when we made the mistake of thinking an extra Sunday night in Las Vegas would be anything but the most painful and unpleasant idea ever.

And even more pleased with having arrived at the airport right on time, and checked luggage because my friend had received a bottle of illegal 7-year aged Havana Club purchased in the Cayman Islands for her birthday and I talked her out of abandoning it. And ecstatic that my friend had been given United Premiere Associate status by her boyfriend and expedited our check-in.

When our flight was delayed an hour, we thought no big deal, and flipped through magazines before boarding the plane. Upon boarding, they gave us vouchers for some kind of compensation for our inconvenience. This seemed extremely generous for an hour delay, and as my friend checked the compensation options on her blackberry, which included a $25 voucher or 3000 miles, they announced inspection of a mechanical issue.

The flight attendants entertained us by playing the guess our combined age game for a free drink, and promised us beverages (and potable water) would arrive soon. When they shut down the plane to reboot the computer system (a "control-alt-delete" for the plane), we laughed while sitting in the dark because opening the windows would have made the aircraft unbearably hot.

We still didn't mind when we de-planed and went to get my friend a burger. I had 12 messages on my mobile from United telling me of my changed flight status, and the last one said we would be taking off in 20 minutes. We stood in line at what looked like a good restaurant, but when it was taking forever, we decided to just get burger king (BK veggie...mmmmm). When we arrived back at the gate, they said we would have more information in 20 minutes. As we consumed our unnecessarily fast food, it was announced that our flight was canceled, that no other aircraft could be obtained, and that it was unlikely we could find any other flights out that day.

We left the gate, went back to the Premiere line (thankfully, not only was I with my hilarious friend rather than traveling alone, my friend also had Premiere status, and we did not have to wait in the horrible long line with the angry, angry other passengers), and waited while we were booked on the first available morning flight, which was just before noon. They put us up at the Hampton Inn, which was halfway decent, and we sat by the by now shaded pool in the blow-dryer wind and recounted everything hilarious that had happened until now. We went out to eat, and for a drink, and I came back exhausted past 1:00 and asked the hotel desk agent where I could get on the internet. She said they had nothing.

My friend had joked that the only thing that could go worse would be a fire alarm going off in the middle of the night. I failed to see the humor when it actually happened at 6:00 in the morning, when after 4 hours of sleep I couldn't get back to sleep and spent 45 minutes trying to teach myself to use my friend's blackberry and connect to my work e-mail (so that I could inform my department of my situation, and subject myself to endless ridicule), and every site worked except gmail and my work e-mail, even after I played with the browser and connection options. Finally, after realizing I would never fall back asleep, I went downstairs, prepared to leave the hotel in search of internet.

I went down to the front desk to ask where I should go for internet, and the guy says, "Down the hall and to the left." When I explain to him that his colleague last night told me there was no internet, he said last night was a bad night. I asked if I just put in my credit card. "No, it's free."
Ah, the cherry on top.

I will be so happy when I get the hell out of here. I am fighting off what might be a cold, or what might be just the Las Vegas. Despite our planning, the Las Vegas wanted us to stay through Sunday night, and there was nothing we could do about it.

City is way too small

We were waiting in the will call line for City Arts and Lectures, my boyfriend of now two months telling me about the restaurant he's taking me to for my birthday next month but won't tell me the name of, and I'm asking whether I should dress up, and could I wear the dress I'm wearing, something stupid, and we're being obnoxiously affectionate, when I hear my name from behind me.

Right behind us in line is my ex-boyfriend, who I haven't seen since the day we broke up, and spoke up right then either because he just realized it was me when he recognized my loud voice talking about wearing my dress to a friend's holiday party, or because he didn't want to watch him put his hand on my hip anymore.

The poor guy looks really uncomfortable, and I default to overly enthusiastic -

"HI! How ARE you!" and introduce them, as they eye each other carefully. He's by himself, so I start to worry that he's attending this event by himself and seeing me on a date, which is beyond uncomfortable, so I ask,
"Are you...meeting anyone here?"
"Yeah, I'm meeting this girl who I've been...dating...for a while... We should have lunch sometime..."
"Definitely! ... Wow, it's so funny to run into you here."
"Yeah, awkward."
"Eh, it's not so bad."
"Uh, I'm going to go to the back of the line..."
"It's fiiiiiiine," I say, to which he smiles uncomfortably and again says,
"I'm going to go...back there..."

I tell my boyfriend I am really curious to see who my former boyfriend is dating, and try to glance back but can't get a look. I tell him I bet she's blonde, with big boobs, and laugh out loud.
He gets a look when we're sitting down and says she's pretty cute and blonde but not his type.

This is the sort of thing that always happens to me.

it was supposed to rain

but instead it was 70 and sunny in Seattle, tacking on a perfect evening of walking along the water and back through bell town onto my already perfect 3-day weekend. I totally lead a charmed life.

o'hare-y situation (sorry, i couldn't help it)

A week and a half of crashing industry/trade show parties, a blind date, going out after the Analytics summit, going out, Passover, going out, staying up way too late, and a business trip to Chicago (and a deep-dish and beer overdose), and I am tired out. So being stuck delayed at O'Hare isn't the worst thing in the world (though getting in at like 2 am probably will be) - I paid for internet and am getting a chance to catch up on stuff. And (after serious poaching) I even managed to grab an outlet to plug in!

It's a zoo here, with every flight delayed (because of some drizzle). But my friend who saw me online asked me what my flight number was, and proceeded to upgrade me to first class with his apparently abundant frequent flyer miles and said,"I've been stuck there

and it is always better to recline your seat and get dinner served to you on the plane with a glass of wine when you're done"

He's done this before, a couple years back - it's like the nicest thing ever, like having a wish you didn't know you had granted by the airplane genie.

birthday olympics

The thing about costume parties is that regardless of the company, the costumes always set the tone of the night.

I attended a theme-party for my friend's birthday last night - she wanted us to dress as olympic athletes. I was a rhythmic gymnast. I planned to wear warm-ups all night (like the rhythmic gymnast getting ready for a performance), but it was uncharacteristically like 80 degrees at night. So I was that girl. I was powerless against the costume. Even with the reasonable subtext going in my head, I still posed for costume-appropriate photographs I hope will never surface.

The rest of the night spiraled out control accordingly - in the manner of being completely aware of the ridiculous situation but being powerless to stop it. The costumes just won.

We ended up at Steps of Rome at 2 am for pizza. After dinner I asked my friend if she wanted a candle and singing, or if it would embarrass her - she said she wouldn't mind a candle. I told the waiter it was my friend's birthday and could he put a candle in something. Of course! he says.

So apparently at Steps of Rome when it's a girl's birthday they finish singing happy birthday and the two waiters perform intense lapdances on the birthday girl. She took it like a champ - even we were blushing. When it was all over another friend at the table said, "yeah, didn't you know they did that here?"

But really, when you're in a leotard and sweats out in North Beach in the middle of the night, there's really no other reasonable expectation.

I love Seattle again

I love Seattle when the sun comes out and the water out of the office windows sparkles, even though it's still freezing - there is actual visibility, and you can see the snow-covered mountains past the bright blue water, and it actually starts to make sense why people live there. That and the phenomenal coffee and amazing fish that I ate at all but one of my meals.

Now that I love my job, even when it's dysfunctional or ridiculous, going up to the Seattle office is so great! I ran from meeting to meeting to random meeting I booked to talk about things only vaguely implied indirectly in my job description, and loved every geeky minute. Last time I came up the New York girls were there, but this time I was solo, and the only female in the group besides the very quiet, married Chinese lady in QA and a new girl who had just started that day.

Two of the three single men in the group (both of whom have in the past made awkward advances towards me still short of needing to involve HR) continued their usual awkward but harmless overtures, which further lead me to believe that they must have a hard time meeting women outside of work.

The one who told me back at the Holiday party that he had been attracted to me since he took part in interviewing me for my position sent me the 6 pm non sequitur one-line e-mail asking me out that night:
Want to go for some wine and tapas in Capitol Hill?
Followed by a pasted excerpt from a CitySearch review for the place he proposed. I declined, saying that I already had plans with my SF coworker who was also in Seattle for the week (yay, thanks A!). It's a delicate balance, keeping things friendly enough so that working together is efficient, but not being too friendly because I wouldn't want to give him the impression that it would be anything but blatantly inappropriate for anything to happen between me and an almost-40 , divorced coworker and father of a 3-year-old, who I work with closely.

The other one, a never-married 35-year-old who constantly takes friendly touching to a barely-appropriate-for-the-workplace extreme, constantly came by my desk, poking my arm with his finger, poking his head over my shoulder, patting me on the shoulder barely in context. Since he does this with all of the girls in the group in their early-20s, I don't take this as seriously, but it is still constantly skirting the line where I think I should say something - but in that event, there goes the effective/efficient working relationship.

Today as I was leaving he insisted that I come say goodbye - so I go to his row and say goodbye from 10 feet away, with a bag on each arm as shields from his attempts to hug me.
"Oh, I see how it is," he said.
"What?" I say, with body language turning to walk away.
"Come on, give me a hug," he says, while walking towards me with his arms outstretched - made less awkward only by the fact that the others in his row had thankfully left.
"But we're at work - I don't hug anyone else at work."
He already has his arms around my shoulders, hugging me over my useless shields of laptop bag and handbag. I leave my arms at my sides. In the 9 modules of HR-mandated sexual harassment training, there was no module that would have helped with this scenario.

Other than avoiding incidents of borderline sexual harassment and not-yet-necessary confrontation thereof, I went to a Marines game with a few guys from work. And on the way I completely randomly ran into Cameron, who I knew back in San Jose! Wow - Seattle is so small. He briefly joined me and my coworkers, who included the inappropriate-touching guy, a newer developer who is super cool (recruited by his girlfriend at our company), my manager (who has deadpan humor down better than anyone I've ever met), and the new guy on the team who moved out from London, who is so fabulously charming, cute, impeccably dressed, witty and sweet that I had to make great efforts not to flirt with him excessively, because my manager was right there and that is just awkward (luckily Facebook tells me he is in a relationship. You Facebook naysayers clearly don't recognize the value of this).

After the game I went with the new developer to meet up with his friends at Linda's in Capitol Hill, and he and his friends were so much fun! We stayed out way too late and I barely squeezed in 5 hours of sleep, so I was miserable, tore-up-looking and overcaffeinated-bug-eyed all day. As I'm refilling my cup of coffee in the kitchen, the British guy comes over to the coffee machine.

"I got half-decaf this morning - what a mistake!" I said.
He starts to tell me something about how coffee is good for you, and I say, "Antioxidants!" because I totally read that article.
"But it's also good for your brain," he said.
"Oh, really?"
And he starts to launch into some unintelligible explanation of some scientific study about the brain and caffeine that I can't follow because I'm too busy being tired and trying not to flirt with him in the kitchen, until he can tell I look skeptical (confused) and am not following him.
"I'll send you the article," he says.

Five minutes later I get an e-mail from him, with a link to a BBC article in the subject line, and in the body:
"Just to show I wasn’t just making it up ;)."

The greatest part of the article is where it says "Other studies have shown that high levels of cholesterol in the blood can make this barrier "leaky"."

I respond, "I’m fairly certain my fatigue is due to staying up late and drinking, rather than a leaky protein layer."

He replies, "Sounds like you need to hang out with the British at the summit in San Francisco and build up your tolerance levels.. We’ll be sure to cure any future onset of fatigue."

Sounds like I'm in for a world of trouble.

reruns

omg I love hulu.com.

Now when I am home alone spending my evening replying to work e-mail and feeling pathetic I can watch episode after episode of The Mary Tyler Moore show!

All without waiting for anything to download or planning my Netflix queue around comfort reruns.

today elaine unwittingly convinced me to try not to be crazy.
not sure if that's what she was going for, per se.
but good thing.

taking the birds out

8pm: Lying on the couch passed out watching episode after episode of 30 Rock on Netflix, debating the merits of going out. I was exhausted from a big night the night before (which included late-night food and cock-blocking this guy who clearly wanted to get in the pants of my friend who has a boyfriend), an early noon haircut appointment and a whole day with Roz in the sun (we went to the top of Buena Vista park - my favorite). I feel compelled to go out, among other reasons, because of this conversation:

5pm: (phone call with my mother while riding home on the 1)
"So what are you doing tonight?" my mother asks.
"I don't know, I'm thinking of maybe going to a Purim party, but I'm so exhausted," I say.
"I don't understand, why would you not go?"
"I'm exhausted, I've been out all day and I had a big night last night, and went out a lot this week."
"Uh, you can sleep tomorrow - why would you miss out on going out tonight?"
"Um, if I'm too tired I might not have that good of a time."
"Then have some coffee."
"I'm tired and I don't want to get the flu."
"Oh, you 'might get the flu.'" (mockingly)
"I'm serious! That's how I get the flu - I go out too much and don't take care of my body."
"I suppose. I just think if you have the opportunity to go out, you go out You can always rest later."
"But I've been out 5 nights this week - it's not the end of the world if I don't go out tonight."
"I guess. But you could meet people!"
"The party's at a loud club - I doubt I'm going to have a heart to heart with anyone or meet the love of my life."
"You never know."
"People don't meet the loves of their life at a loud club."
"You never know."
"I have a better chance of meeting the love of my life at the supermarket."
"Why the supermarket?"
"I don't know, anywhere."
"Ah, okay. Well you do what you want. It just sounds like fun."
This is my mother. Is it any wonder I am so restless?

9:30pm: I recover after ginger tea and decide to attend the party. It's a Purim costume party at Mighty, where I have only gone once, for my work's holiday party the year before last. My roommate isn't answering her phone, so I can't ask to go through her insane stash of costumes, and I have only one to choose from - my crazy Tippi Hedrin from the Birds costume from Halloween. I contemplate not wearing a costume at all, because attaching the ravens to myself is such a production, but that seems lame, and it's such a great costume, I might as well just go for it.

10:20pm: I call my friend to make sure she will be there before I arrive, so that I won't cab over and not know anyone. My friend says they are leaving really soon, so I start heading out to catch a cab, because she lives so close she'll definitely beat me.

10:45pm: I text my friend to see where she is. She responds, "We'll be there in 15." Ugh. Because of my amazing costume, every 5th stranger smiles at me, or approaches me with one of the following comments:
-that's such a great costume!
-are those real birds?
-aaaugh. those are scary.
-that's awesome. wait, what are you?
-omg are you Tippi Hedrin?

11pm: I run into a friend! Whew. Thanks for getting me out of the conversation with the hairy bare-chested man with a turban. What the hell was he supposed to be, anyway?

11:15pm: Watching belly dancers. My friend texts me to tell me she and her entourage have arrived, as a woman from the JCC with a clipboard has me sign the rights of my likeness away for photographs of me that have apparently been taken in the last half hour without my knowledge.

12am: I start talking to this costumeless guy who recently moved back from New York, who told me my costume was his favorite. I didn't know if he was flirting or if he was just being friendly because of the costume and killing time because his friends just left, until he starts touching my elbow.

drink 1: elbow touch, elbow touch, elbow touch.

drink 2: elbow touch, back touch, elbow touch, elbow grab, elbow hold, elbow touch, holding both elbows, waist grab, elbow touch, arm hold, back touch, elbow hold

drink 3: "You should give me your phone number so we can hang out." elbow hold, elbow touch, back touch, elbow touch.

1:30 am: The elbow-enamored gentleman departed, I am dancing hard with my friends to bad jungle/house/techno under a flashing strobe light. I feel like a tourist - this is so not my scene. I take the last of my birds off.

best of text messages

the upgraded Verizon firmware on my phone now gives me only 80 messages of storage. before I delete all, the best of this month:


My college boyfriend, at like 1 am EST:
You know i have to wash my feet before bed cuz of you?


My friend Vincent, on the party theme:
K. Theyre picking me up at my place. It's king of later. The theme is kilts. If kilts doesnt work it has to be .crotchless. like a skirt.


My friend Natalie, before she sold her car:
Cool. I have a guy coming 2 look at the car and potentially take it tonight at like 11...stas and dima r going 2 help me and if it sells we're drinking w the $

good company

Evidently, meeting gentlemen at the bars whose atmosphere I enjoy results in company that affords the following conversations:

"I think you're totally adorable."
"Aw, thank you."
"Are you into orgasms?"
"Excuse me?"
"Because I'm into giving you orgasms."
"I'm sorry?"
"I could totally give you the craziest orgasms. I could like, blow your mind."
"Um, I'm going to visit the ladies' room."


"You seem like you have a white-collar job."
"I totally do. Um, what do you do?"
"I'm a waiter at Little Star."
"Oh, that's cool."
"I'm totally into the fact that you have like a real job and I'm a rock and roller. I think we would work that way."
"You mean because I could buy you drinks and stuff?"
"I mean, that too, but that's not all of it."


"Um, excuse me, I was wondering."
"Yes?"
"Does wearing long earrings like, bother you? Because they're hitting your neck all the time?"
"No, not really, they're really light. You get used to it. They're fun."
"I want to see what you look like without them."
"Okay."
"You look cute with and without earrings. Do you live in the neighborhood?"
"Yeah, I live about a 15 min walk."
"We work at Whole Foods tomorrow. You should come by and like, buy some asparagus. It's only 39 cents a pound! That's all I've been living on all week!"


Additionally, was walked halfway home by a hairstylist from Marin who referred to me as "pretty girl," and is proud owner of 30 freaky tattoos, that all looked at me simultaneously, saying, "You look like you have a white-collar job."

klutz

So I went with Lindsey to Shabbat services at Emanu-El, which I've probably meant to do since I moved to the City, but never actually have. Even before I moved here I had heard about the young adult after-Shabbat kegger, which I can't say was quite a kegger, but definitely a good place to meet people.

Services were really nice, and by nice I mean like being at an intimate Fleetwood Mac concert, if Fleetwood Mac sang in Hebrew. Wow. I didn't expect them to be that talented. It didn't quite feel like services without the melodies I know, and occasionally spacing out and wondering how many pages we had left, but it was very cool.

Afterwards we're downstairs eating cookies and drinking He-brew from the keg, talking to people, and who do I see but Mr. ADD - who I last saw when he asked for my number outside the bar, and I figured I had nothing to lose by telling him I preferred his friend. Yikes. I am so horrible. I felt kind of bad about that, but figured I should go over and say hello, clear the air. I mean he was a nice guy, just not someone I wanted to date. I go over and we make eye contact as I am on my way up. He frowns and says "hey," and begins turning away, so I look back at Lindsey bewildered. I guess we're not going to have that nice 3-min conversation after all. I couldn't blame the guy, but ouch.

As we're leaving, one of the guys we sat with at dinner asks us if we want to go swing dancing in SOMA, but we are exhausted from work, and me from daylight savings-induced insomnia. He asks if I like to dance, and I tell him about how I used to take dance when I was younger. He says, "Come on, you should come out tonight!"
"Oh, thanks, but I'm too tired."
"Really, you should come dancing, it would be fun," he says.
"Ha, sorry, I'm too sleepy."
"No, seriously, I would really like to take you out dancing sometime. Would you come out dancing with me sometime?"
This seemed to come totally out of left field, and it didn't occur to me that he so quickly transitioned from a friendly invite of all of my friends to asking me out. I looked at him to try it on for size. Just couldn't get past the beard. And we didn't quite click. I realize that I have paused too long and my friends tell me later that apparently the shocked look on my face was "a really bad look."
"I'm really not a good dancer," I say. Really, even if I were into this guy, a first date to go out dancing with someone I hardly know is super awkward.

He says he'll give me his business card, so that I can e-mail him. The business card is in glossy full-color, 1/3 of it taken up by a picture of him wearing a huge grin. The business card says he is a comedy magician, and voted best comedian by an SF Weekly reader's poll or something. I am so floored by this (I guess I'm so corporate-world-centric I assume that everyone else works nine to five, and are not magicians) and I laugh, spitting everywhere, so that he looks at me like he needs a towel. I apologize profusely.

As I am retelling this on the way out, and my friends are recalling how I made "a really bad face," this really sweet girl from Marin who had sat with us says she is shocked that I say I am awkward and clumsy. "You seem so graceful and elegant!" This was the nicest thing anyone had said to me in a while, yet so oblivious of how my entire life is a series of missteps, wrong words and embarrassing clumsy moves.

the muni-halfway point night

Met up with a friend at the halfway point between our apartments (muni-calibrated halfway, not geographical halfway, meaning a single bus) which we decided was Pacific Heights.

At the bar we are sipping mojitos and discussing the relatively few payoffs of being single and dating. In the course of conversation I incidentally say the word "sex," and when I do I see a guy and his friend overhear, perk up and look up, and check us out. Here it comes, I said, and expected a relatively bad pickup line from a sex-crazed twenty-something, but instead they went back up to the bar, and I just laughed.

Five minutes later they were back, and up come the two guys, with no better line than "What are your names?" Neither of them was good or bad looking, but the guy doing most of the talking was likely insane.

"This is my brother. Who do you think is older? Who do you think is better looking? What are your names, what do you do? Where are you from?" He talked 100 miles an hour and talked himself into twice as much trouble. They are finance guys originally from Marin, and the older brother is visiting from LA. Very Pac Heights.

We're not interested in either of them but the ADD-afflicted speed-talker is so crazy and amusing that I keep the conversation going (my friend clearly bored but not sure if she needs to suck it up because she thinks I might be interested in one or the other). They introduce us to a couple of their friends in passing. Eventually, we reached the first 10-second lull in conversation and Mr. ADD gets distracted by a friend, so my friend and I start our own conversation again and eventually go get another drink.

As we are ordering wine my friend establishes that I am not interested in either of these guys and am merely amused, but says, "Their friend with the beard is cute."

Twenty minutes later, we are drinking Cabarnet in the two empty seats at the other end of the bar, and who should show up but our ADD friend and his brother. It comes up in conversation that Mr. ADD's older brother is married with two children (though said nuptial commitment doesn't deter him from having eye-contact sex with myself and my friend). Mr. ADD is still at it, talking about how my nervous habit of opening and closing the button on my bag is distracting and implies that it reminds him of sex.

"Do you think my friend who looks like Fidel Castro is cute?" he asks. "He is very shy." I haven't gotten a look but I know the answer from my friend is affirmative. They waive him over, and he is in fact attractive, and engaging. And this is coming from a facial hair-hater. Mr. ADD asks him, gesturing at us, "Which one of them do you like better?" Fidel laughs quietly, shellshocked. Fidel says he has been working all day getting a movie out at Pixar and is calling it a night. Another friend we met across the room comes over, he says to save us from his crazy friends.

It takes about five minutes to establish that their friend (who is very nice) not only works in the same group at the 10,000 person company as my last boyfriend, but also works 10 feet away from his desk. This throws me into a mild state of shock. "Did you break up because he worked too much?" He asked. "Because he does work too much." Aaaah! This is way too small of a city. My friend is clearly over it, and I am fine to leave, so we exchange goodbyes before leaving the bar.

After we head out, Mr. ADD follows us outside and asks if he can give me a call. It occurs to me that this was going to happen, and rather than begin to explain that I don't think he is my type, what comes out of my mouth instead is, "I feel weird because I actually kind of liked your friend," referring to Fidel. He proceeds to try to give me his number, which I refuse to take, but hand him my business card. I suspect there will come a point in my career when I will have to change jobs because I have given out too many of my business cards to people I shouldn't give them to when it seems innocent enough.

At the next bar, my friend is telling me about being hit on by guys at our holiday party, and how she doesn't think she can wear heels and a dress at a work function anymore, because they clearly can't handle it. I say, "Did you see me at the holiday party? I was dressed super slutty. I was like this:" I discreetly (I think) squeeze my boobs together, and suddenly realize that while all patrons of the bar have had their backs to us, one casually looked backwards at a perfectly opportune time to see me squeeze my boobs together. He loses it laughing. I tell my friend, and we both lose it laughing, at which point he looks back again at us, laughing his ass off, and I say "I'm sorry," meaning, sorry about the potentially vulgar gesture in your general direction.

He comes over to us, laughing to the point of walking off-balance, and I explain that it was in the context of conversation. He says, "It's like when you hear the word penis and it's in the context of conversation, but all all you hear is the word penis." I say, "I'm sorry if I offended you by squeezing my boobs together in your general direction." My friend says this is the only time she will ever hear the phrase, "I'm sorry if I offended you by squeezing my boobs together in your general direction." Though I'm sure this is not the only time it has ever been said.

brilliant ideas

Friday: Though no longer feeling sick, my voice is hoarse at the end of the summit, as I'm making my way to New York.
Great Idea: I should go to a party and yell all night, then get late-night pizza with Natalie and stay up until 4 in the morning!

Saturday: I am hoarse all day, but it starts to sound a lot better in the evening after dinner.
Great Idea: I should go out with a group to the neighborhood wine bar at midnight and get myself into heated politics and culture arguments, then go close out Southern Comfort down the street. And then we should all go back to Natalie's and yell about history and politics over more wine, and stay up until 6 in the morning!

So now my voice is really gone. Can't say I didn't ask for it.

i'm it.

Shonelle tagged my blog. Ordinarily I would ignore the blog-equivalent of a chain letter but she is nice and this doesn't seem so bad. Hers, at least, was very entertaining.

Eight Things You May Not Know About Me:

1. Language - I have massive language issues, which I like to blame on the fact that at 4 years old my parents resisted my switch to English by insisting that they would not speak any English in the house and that I have to only speak Hebrew. As a result I maintained my fluency in Hebrew and am physically incapable of switching languages halfway through a conversation, and have trouble switching accents to say words that don't translate from English.

2. Friends - I have trouble making friends in languages other than English. I feel like a little kid when I speak Hebrew because I basically only speak it with relatives. I feel like a hopelessly awkward, inarticulate foreigner when I speak French (because that is how the French treat you when you have an accent).

3. Dancing - I was on a dance team that competed when I was 11, but I've still never felt like a good dancer when dancing anything unchoreographed. This is because I am hopelessly awkward and don't know what to do with my hands. I made it onto the dance team in high school when I was 15, but quit after 2 months because I didn't like having to be out there with the cheerleaders during football season.

4. Punk Rock - Instead of going to football games in High School, I went to bad local punk rock shows with my friends Emily, Avi, or Paul, et al. Me and Emily had a college radio show on KSCU when we were 17 - we started out playing abrasive punk rock and oi, but by the end of the year we were playing a whole lot of emo and indie rock.

5. Guilt - 40% of my actions are determined by guilt. I like to pretend guilt helps makes me a better person. It accounts for why I work hard, exercise, don't own a car, don't spend a lot of money on luxury goods, and do things I don't want to do.

6. Head to Mouth Filter - I never know when this might work, and it usually doesn't. I try to make up for this by feeling bad and apologizing profusely.

7. Argument Style - I make big, sweeping statements that I don't actually know if I believe, and then argue for them until I make up my mind what I actually think. I'm really open to rethinking my positions, so I can usually be outargued unless I've been researching something for months.

8. Alcohol - I never drank, I mean never, until shortly before I turned 20, during the rise of Charles Shaw. That year I studied abroad in France and fell in love with 2-3 euro bottles of Cotes du Rhone. Alcohol has helped me discover new hobbies I never knew I had, such as meeting new people, dancing, speaking foreign languages, and talking to boys.

I am tagging Elaine because she hasn't blogged since January. Plus, she doesn't have that guilt thing I have, and doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do.

my entire life is just a series of awkward encounters and other disaster prevention. that's why I can't watch The (American) Office without feeling familiar, excruciating pain.
at least tonight was fun, at my favorite bars in the Mission, and a new love of a Taqueria.

how poorly run the ron paul campaign was

I got a text message at 9:30 am, an hour after voting, that said:

Ron Paul: the only Republican 4 low taxes, less spending, gun rights, no amnesty, and no UN. RonPaul2008.com Paid for by Ron Paul 2008, PCC, 2 STOP reply STOP

The problems with this:
Text message advertising is dumbed-down, annoying and ineffective
Ron Paul's platform is not compelling in dumbed-down bullet points, and his base is not well-reached in this way
My area code is in the Bay Area - it's unlikely that most of those factors are what would motivate me to vote for Ron Paul
As a working person, this came an hour after I already cast my vote
I'm not sure where they got my phone number, but if it was from a list of likely voters, a text message like this actually makes me view him less favorably

I tried to talk to her and come to the sort of agreement that people who need to coexist come to after an awkward exchange, where you put the harmless thing that happened aside, and even if you have to be the tiniest bit fake because you think you were in the right, it's what you have to do in order to continue to coexist. Because sticking it to the person gets you nowhere, and is just not worth it.

And we did. I apologized for my reaction and for what I said coming out the wrong way, and the little awkwardness that couldn't vanish right away was minimal. I know I have a lot to work on, and I Monday morning quarterback everything and overanalyze what I did wrong and how I should change. So I do what I can, I make amends and try to be better. She seemed to get where I was coming from. Even some mutual respect despite differences seemed to have been reached.

And then she added, "I was just taken aback, because you were so passionate, your eyes were all serious. I know politics and work shouldn't mix, and I just realized this is someone I shouldn't talk about politics with, from now on I should stick to the weather."

Ugh, sometimes I respond in the worst way possible to people with extreme personalities coming at me in an unorthodox way. It would seem like since I have an extreme personality that I would actually know how to handle this, but instead the worst things come out of my mouth.

"He's a Nazi."
"No he's not, that's total propaganda."
"But he took money from Nazis."
"He took money from everyone."
"And he doesn't believe health care is a right!"
"It's not that simple."
"Are you going to vote for him?"
"He's not going to win."
"Ew, you're going to vote for him?"
"Leave me alone, I know a lot more about this than you do..." (oops, where the hell did that come from) "Just kidding..."
"I'm not going to talk to you about this."
"I don't need to take shit for the fact that I think the government shouldn't be in the pocket of lobbyists."
"I'm not going to talk to you about this."
"I'm done talking."

It was all a joke but not a joke, and now I just feel awkward.

And of course now I'm mad at myself for not being able to act like it was a joke and calmly explain that I registered Republican to vote for Ron Paul in the primary to cast a vote against the war and for being fiscally responsible, because the country is on track to go bankrupt and then no one will have health care, social security, welfare or medicare.

But that I want Obama for president because he would take steps to reduce lobbyists' influence, and his health care plan has a more coherent understanding of how free markets actually work, and his voting record shows a more thoughtful, coherent, responsible leadership. And he could actually win. Plus, I drool over his speeches.

And I'm actually a really progressive moderate leaning towards extreme environmentalism, and not ideologically a libertarian at all, but I think package liberalism is really ignorant and dangerous, and a (impossible) Ron Paul presidency would mean cutting military spending and beginning to spend responsibly, and maybe even saving the dollar from catastrophic collapse, not the disappearance of all social services and public funding for education and parks.

This is why I didn't get into Speech and Debate in High School. I am like, the least articulate speaker ever when I'm on the defense.

los angeles

Driving around with my old roommate in LA is unexpectedly refreshing. I guess I just needed to leave the City for a few days. Hiking up at Runyon Canyon with the cast of The Biggest Loser behind us on one of the clearest days of the year, I started to feel better about life.

shlamazel

"Um, excuse me? Did you know you had something on the back of your jacket?"
"No...ewww. What is it? What color is it?"
Apparently it was the world's biggest cranberry juice stain on the back of my white coat. The bottle had cracked inside my handbag on the way to work, and the plastic bag I put it in apparently had a hole in it.
Awesome.
This sort of thing seems to happen to me more than other people.
The great wisdom of my ancestors indicates that I am a shlamazel. A schlemiel is the one who spills the soup; shlamazel is the one who gets spilled on. To be fair, I am a little bit of both, and beverage calamities seem to follow me wherever I go.

the replace a memory game

The concept had existed before, but my friend had actually given it a title.
When your friends are deciding where to eat, you can play the replace a memory game - you go somewhere that makes you sad to think about because of memories you had there with someone who broke your heart, and you create a new memory with your friends.
Since we were already in the neighborhood, and had had a few drinks, I decided we should get burritos and replace a memory, while singing the theme song from the Mary Tyler Moore show.

wikipedia fun

This unfortunately probably won't be around for much longer.
See Articles for Deletion.

Beerluck

Beerluck (edit|talk|history|links|watch|logs) – (View log)

Unreferenced article that appears to be completely non-notable. Quite possibly made up, and clearly unencyclopedic. Pyrospirit (talk · contribs) 20:35, 23 January 2008 (UTC)

• Delete as something made up one day. No sources of any kind to assert notability. DarkAudit (talk) 20:39, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
• Delete per WP:MADEUP. Only about 580 googlehits and most are either blogs or not in english .--Malevious Userpage •Talk Page• Contributions 20:51, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
• Delete. Very few hits on Google, nothing even close to a reliable source to establish notability. Doctorfluffy (talk) 21:47, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
• Do NOT delete. Etymological rules based on pre-existing usage would have preempted a vast majority of words now seen in common usage or idioms (i.e. Rule of Thumb) from entering the English language. While we must consider the negative influence of Recentism, as someone who has attended a beerluck, I can testify to their existence. --ashwin User:ashwinsodhi
  • Comment Anecdotal evidence is not sufficient. Wikipedia requires reliable, verifiable sources independent of the subject. None of that is here, or appears to be forthcoming. DarkAudit (talk) 22:52, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
• Delete, nonsense. Nakon 22:29, 23 January 2008 (UTC)
• Delete There are reasons that it is not common practice for people to sample a wide variety of beers. Back in 1995, my friends and I had a "beers of the world" party with six six-packs of beers, and it's like drinking different liquors. Instead of Tubthumping, the result is everybody getting sick the next day. At best, this is a variation on BYOB. Mandsford (talk) 01:22, 24 January 2008 (UTC) BTW, What do you call a party where there are different varieties of cannabis? Mandsford (talk) 01:26, 24 January 2008 (UTC)

breakup software

Breaking up is painful and messy enough. Your technology should make it easier to cope.
I submit the following ideas to cyberspace.

1. Facebook Breakup Application
Updates your page to indicate your relationship status as single or hides your relationship status altogether based on your preferences
Notifies your closest friends tactfully of the breakup through their news feed so that they can be sensitive without making you relive the experience by retelling the same story to all of your friends
Archives all photos tagged with both of your names together into a hidden folder that requires password to access when logged into your own account

2. Gmail breakup label
All threads from a sender can be selected and labeled breakup (or breakup followed by .any text i.e. breakup.jeffrey). When archived, all conversations are sent to hidden folder that is protected from user viewing or rereading them by password and mandatory survey that assesses the user's emotional vulnerability (check the box next to any of the following sad thoughts you have had today:).
Label preferences can be custom set to unprotect folder access within 60 days, 90 days, 6 months, one year or never, or to never be accessible between 9:00 pm and 7 am.

3. Gmail chat breakup mode
Contact can be selected as "ex" option under "Show in chat list." Options then appear for the length of time contact should be blocked (60 days, 90 days, 6 months, one year or never).
Editing contact preferences to unblock contact before the defined date requires user to complete mandatory survey that assesses the user's emotional vulnerability (check the box next to any of the following reasons for unblocking your ex:).
If user changes the same contact from "ex" to "auto" back to "ex" more than three times in a one-month period, contact will be automatically blocked for 60 days. To override, user must e-mail "breakup@gmail.com," which e-mails back a lecture about being strong, with links to inspirational articles about starting over, and a link labeled "are you sure you want to unblock this contact?" at the bottom.

4. Mobile WAP breakup application
Application prevents caller from dialing or smsing a selected phone number between 10 pm and 7 am.
Breathalyzer attachment prevents caller from dialing or smsing a selected phone number when blood alcohol content is over 0.1%.

what an insufferably long, horrible week. the kind of week that makes possible things like alcohol, drugs, one-night stands and las vegas. i wish it would just end already.

a break, or whatever

I'm fine.
I mean I'm always fine.
But ugh.

It sucks that I have to watch my roommate and her new boyfriend be insufferably adorable around the house. I mean nobody deserves it more than her, and I'm glad not to be home alone.
But ugh.

why is it always worse flying back from the east coast?

I arrive at the airport just after 7:00 pm for an 8:10 departure. Having gotten through security, I began rearranging my suitcase and moving certain items into a duffel bag so that my overstuffed carry-on could actually be stuffed into the overhead bin. I am just about to check to see if JFK had free wifi and grab dinner when I discover that my laptop has reached a temperature of approximately 90 degrees, on failing to standby, because I had stuffed it hastily into its case when I got the call that my airport transportation had arrived downstairs, and forgot to shut down some files that were on the network. I spend over twenty minutes trying in every way to shut down Excel and Word so I could get my computer to standby or shut down.

By the time I finish, I realize I only have ten minutes until boarding. I try to visit the ladies’ room but see a dozen or so women in line, so I decide to delay and try to find the fastest food option so I won’t be stuck on a cross-continental flight with nothing to eat when they run out of meatless sandwiches for sale on board. When I am served my two slices of Famiglia pizza, they tell me they are out of boxes.

Now I am really late, so I check the gate on my printed boarding pass, the corner slowly soaking up pizza oil, and run towards gate 22. Apparently, gates 19-24 are a shuttle ride away, so I hurry out to 20 degrees for the shuttle without putting on my coat. I arrive at gate 22 to discover that my flight is no longer at gate 22, and I realize I am a complete idiot for not taking the time to check a screen. I ask an agent at one of the desks to call gate 5 and tell them I am on my way. By the time I am back at the main gates (all the while carrying dripping pizza on a paper plate, passing Famiglia pizza on my way like a confused idiot, now wearing my coat, dragging my unreasonably heavy carry-on) they are calling the final boarding call for my flight, and telling the ‘final passenger’ they must arrive now. I am running as hard as I possibly can, sweating under thick layers of wool and wheezing, just in time to hand the agent my pizza-oil-soaked boarding pass, which he scans. Whew.

Forty minutes later, we are still taxiing on the runway, and are informed that we have conflicted with international departure rush hour, and are 40^th in line to take off. I call eight of my friends to chat and reach none of them, but successfully add last names to every contact in my mobile phone contacts. We depart 90 min late.

lessons learned on trip:

Black Cashmere scarf and white wool coat do not mix, resulting in sloppy, dusted-gray appearance despite all lint-rolling

If you are California native, turtleneck, wool sweater, wool coat and gloves are still inadequate on the Hudson among flurries in 20 degree weather. It is still cold enough to make you hallucinate

Reserving the Sheraton in Wehawken, NJ (a 10-min ferry ride to Manhattan) costs only 25% of the Starwood rewards points per night as the W New York in Midtown. It is about 6 times the size, and has a view of the river and Manhattan.

At a pool hall in between neighborhoods in Brooklyn, the waitress might not know what Stoli is. Or soda. Even though there are bottles of Gray Goose and Belvedere on display, and at most bars soda is a more standard mixer than seltzer

At a table with a lawyer, do not assume COPA- and COPPA-compliance are different pronunciations of the same online child protection act - they are actually two different acts, one against pornography and the other for privacy

Movie tickets at the AMC in Times Square cost $11.25. You would think this was crazy if you hadn’t been to the Kabuki in SF Japantown since it was acquired by Sundance ($3 Amenity fee? wtf.)